


The Runner

by Lozza342



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Drinking, Fluff, M/M, Olympics, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27582571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lozza342/pseuds/Lozza342
Summary: The first time he acknowledged him had been unfortunate. While sipping on his coffee, Kenjirou had unexpectedly met his gaze, giving him no choice but to see his warm smile and the bright spark in his eyes, greeting him as always.That day, Kenjirou found no way to avoid responding, dipping his head briefly in greeting before looking straight back down at his phone. But suddenly the news wasn’t so important. More concerning was the fact that now Kenjirou had acknowledged his existence, he’d never be able to ignore him again.
Relationships: Goshiki Tsutomu/Shirabu Kenjirou
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39
Collections: Goshira Fanweek 2020





	The Runner

**Author's Note:**

> Goshira week Day 7 / FREE
> 
> So I thought I should at least write SOMETHING
> 
> So I chugged this out in one day. It may not be up to my usual standards? But I wanted to write them!!

Kenjirou couldn't remember the first time the man passed him. Dressed in his full tracksuit, sweating and panting as he ran. 

Perhaps because Kenjirou ignored him. Kenjirou's lack of amiability early in the morning was no secret. Was he ever amiable? Probably not, but he didn't really care. Particularly, people who were overly cheery rubbed him the wrong way, so it was no wonder the enthusiastic “Mornin’!” he heard while glued to his phone went ignored in the beginning. 

The first time he acknowledged him had been unfortunate. While sipping on his coffee, Kenjirou had unexpectedly met his gaze, giving him no choice but to see his warm smile and the bright spark in his eyes, greeting him as always.

That day, Kenjirou found no way to avoid responding, dipping his head briefly in greeting before looking straight back down at his phone. But suddenly the news wasn’t so important. More concerning was the fact that now Kenjirou had acknowledged his existence, he’d never be able to ignore him again. 

It became part of his morning routine. Just like brushing his teeth and buying his regular black coffee. Long after the first glimpse of his face, the runner became a familiar sight, the glaring purple tracksuit and equally glaring face of confidence.

Kenjirou didn’t miss how, over time, the tone of his voice had shifted. He’d never struck Kenjirou as shy, or he wouldn’t have spoken to him to begin with.

Yet, something back then had been tentative.

Now, Kenjirou almost wanted to hide when the runner greeted him so loudly. He used to be invisible, staring at his phone in one hand and sipping his coffee in his other. The sheer definition of “Don’t talk to me.” But he did, for some reason. It begged the question, however. 

Did he greet everyone he passed, or just Kenjirou? 

The answer didn’t matter, or so Kenjirou told himself. What significance would it hold, anyway? 

Either way, the next time Kenjirou made his way to work, he nodded to him as usual. Only he turned back to watch him continue on after a few more steps.

The answer didn’t matter.

So why did Kenjioru’s stomach drop when the next person he passed gave him an enthusiastic response?

-

A bitter feeling overtook Kenjirou that day. At work, he snapped. His colleagues worried for him, but he couldn’t ever admit what attributed to his behaviour. The nameless runner with a haircut more ridiculous than his own greeted someone other than him? Could he sound any more ridiculous saying that aloud than in his head?

With his mood plummeting, Kenjirou barely noticed the next day that he got no greeting at all. That is until he got to work and paused in front of the door, spinning around as if he expected him to be standing behind him. Was he so glued to his screen that he didn’t see him? Or did he even pass him at all?

Kenjirou spent the day less bitter and more confused, his frown like a constant scowl at anyone who had the misfortune of speaking to him. For a man who worked using science and logic, nothing bewildered him more than the disappearance of the nameless runner.

-

Days passed. Kenjirou’s mind wandered increasingly to the reasons for the mysterious disappearance - not that he particularly cared. The most likely is that he’d gone on holiday, or even just moved away. Even if the idea of that unsettled Kenjirou’s stomach, it didn’t come close to his other ideas. But he pointedly didn’t think about anything so morbid. He already dealt with enough.

After the fifth day with no runner, Kenjirou’s nights became restless.

Why did he care so much?

He should’ve been happy that he didn’t have to go through the trouble of greeting him each morning anymore.

Yet all he could think about was the cheerful grin on his face, the way his stupid bangs stuck to his forehead, the ever-present glimmer in his friendly eyes… How he was the only one who even said “Good Morning” to him.

Kenjirou angrily gripped his sheets, pulling them over his head.

He never even said it back.

-

Kenjirou wasn’t a drinking guy, but if anything would stop his overthinking brain after a long week of constant 12-hour shifts, it would be drink.

Finding a bar that suited his needs had been a mighty feat. Most places that sold alcohol were full of workmen cheering to the weekend. Such a ruckus gave Kenjirou a headache. However, the last thing he wanted was to talk to someone, so the quiet bars on the side-roads were a no-go as well.

His haven came in the form of a family-run bar beneath a block of flats, half-full of patrons having a quiet drink before settling down for the night. They even had TVs mounted on the wall for a welcome distraction, so once ordering a plain beer, he slid into a quiet booth in the corner and let himself get lost in the game.

It was familiar to him as he watched the ball fly across the screen. In highschool he played volleyball. Never to this level. But he found himself quickly sucked in, rooting for his country going for gold.

In particular, his eyes were glued to the setter; that was the position he used to play. His form was perfect, he would never even dream to play against such strength. In particular, the spikers were powerful. Kenjirou could see from the way they all held themselves that they were there to win.

The angles made it hard to pick any individual member out. In all honesty, Kenjirou used to follow the Japanese national team, but as with a lot of things he had to give up his hobby in favour of work. The names were unfamiliar, but he soon could connect names with faces.

In one particular close-up shot, Kenjirou’s wide eyes became glued to the screen, his heart pounding against his ribcage.

So much for forgetting…

The runner’s fate was no longer a mystery to Kenjirou. Neither was his name.

Goshiki Tsutomu, Japan’s volleyball national team’s outside hitter.

He looked even more in his element here than he did running.

“You just can’t leave me alone, can you?” Kenjirou muttered to himself in annoyance before chugging the rest of his beer.

Then he ordered another.

-

The last set dragged on, his knuckles white where he gripped his glass, unafraid it would shatter. Kenjirou was so absorbed he barely noticed when a young woman tapped on his shoulder, announcing they were closing. He gawped up at her as if she was mad. Taking his eyes off the screen for even a moment was almost painful.

“The game’s still going!” he protested, one eye on her and the other on the screen.

In his defense, he didn’t even raise his voice that loud. Besides, if they were hosting the game, they should’ve let him stay to the end.

Scowling, Kenjirou stormed back to his apartment, a little hazy-eyed and his mind swimming.

Goshiki Tsutomu looked good in the colour red, but purple suited him better.

His hair was still stupid, though.

-

With no recollection of how he managed to get himself home, after Kenjirou forced himself to wake the next morning, he refused to check the final scoring.

Fuck, he was supposed to be responsible. How did he get himself kicked out of a family bar? And as always, it was all that stupid bowl-cut’s fault. What was his name again?

Goshiki.

Goshiki Tsutomu the runner. Goshiki Tsutomu the volleyball player.

-

**Japan volleyball men’s team: Silver**

-

Excitement over, Kenjirou found his routine again. It was missing a certain someone, but his peace of mind was back. The absence of the runner was temporary. Now that the games were over, everything would start to slot back into place. Life for Kenjirou could return to normal.

“Mornin’!”

Kenjirou whipped his head up from his phone, the familiar voice now overly familiar. It wasn’t like he went out of his way to watch the interviews to make absolutely positively sure that Goshiki Tsutomu was the runner, but… he came across them while browsing.

Goshiki’s smile seemed brighter that morning, Kenjirou didn’t consider why, his mouth parting without a second thought. “Good morning…” he mumbled, not expecting Goshiki to skid to a halt just as he passed him.

His eyes wide with shock, Goshiki span around. He seemed flustered, the red hue in his cheeks deepening as he blinked in disbelief. Kenjirou’s heart floundered helplessly in his chest while he tried to come up with something to say.  _ Anything _ . “Congrats on your medal, Goshiki.”

Nothing would even beat how those simple words made Goshiki’s face light up. Never would he have guessed that he would treasure that moment for the rest of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Please consider commenting!


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